"Are you insinuating my kin is a liar, Torben?" Thrane hisses, a warning included in his tone.
"Not at all, but we Dwarves are cautious these days."
Thrane wasn't kidding when he said the Frost Elves and Dwarves didn't see eye-to-eye. These two look like they're one well-timed insult away from fist fighting.
"The way I see it, it's the Dwarves who should be held responsible our realm is being threatened once again," Astrea offers flippantly. She, too, enjoying the chaotic relationship between the Frost Elves and Dwarves. The Dwarf King slides his gaze to the Hydran, anger radiating from him. "It was your people who forged the portals in the first place, was it not?"
"I don't believe we Dwarves saw anyone complaining when we opened the portals and it reaped the benefits of the Celestials, the blessings they bestowed upon each kingdom." King Torben growls, grinding his back teeth. "But sure, blame us because with the good also comes bad."
"Don't be testy, Torben," Thrane coos, taking another sip of his wine. Maybe he should cool it with the libations. "Astrea has a valid point."
Astrea bares her teeth like a dragon would its fangs. "Buttering up to me won't garner you favor, Thrane."
"As if your favor is of any interest to me." He rolls his eyes, shooing her like an irritating fly.
"Order!" Soren bellows, retaking control of the meeting.
Who would have guessed a room full of the most powerful men and women of our realm would be likened to toddlers on a playground? They don't play nice and when they see an opening to get what they want, they sure as hell take it.
"We will have order," Soren reiterates, eyeing every king and queen at the table with a furrowed brow. "In two days, we will celebrate Ronan's wedding. In the meantime, I implore you to search inside your hearts when making the decision to aid this fight. Even though Tronovia would volunteer to bear the brunt of this war, we cannot. We will need our allies to join us if we stand a chance at defeating the coming evil."
There's a silence that stretches across the room. I've barely eaten my food, and my stomach is sour. I push my plate away.
"They want her, right?" Astrea eyes me like a viper homing in on its prey. "They want her blood."
"Your point, Astrea," Thrane drawls. "Or do you like stating the obvious?"
"They can only open the portal if they have her blood," she says. "We were all there when Enver Sol destroyed the portal to Malvolio. He sealed it with his blood. Only his blood, or the blood of his direct descendent, can open it. What if she is no longer in the picture?"
The hair on the back of my neck stands up and I swallow hard when Astrea pins a malicious look on me.
Thrane barks out a laugh that thunders around the hall. "Are you suggesting we kill her and dump her body in the sea?"
Astrea doesn't flinch, nor does she back down. Her face is nothing short of determined. "One death to save thousands of lives. Then we can put this nasty business behind us."
"That is your suggestion?" Ronan shoots to his feet, slamming his palms down on the table. "I've never heard anything more fucked up in my life."
The Hydrans erupt, hurling insults in Ronan's direction. The Bavans seem to have a soft spot for the Tronovian Prince because they immediately come to his aid, shouting at the Hydrans.
Thrane chuckles, amused by the turn of events. I fear Thrane's enjoyment in riling others up has rubbed off on Ronan, giving him the boldness to tell the Hydran queen off to her face. So much for diplomacy. We've now resorted to mudslinging.
Soren melts into his seat and rubs his forehead, clearly exhausted by the turn this meeting has taken. I can't say I blame him.
The Dwarves seem relieved the unwanted attention has shifted from them to me being offered up as a sacrificial lamb. They allow the others to yell and scream while they dig into their food and drink their wine.
It's then my mother's hand finds purchase on my bouncing knee beneath the table. She doesn't look my direction, even when I turn to meet her gaze. Her hardened frown is pinned on the Hydran Queen. Frost and Sea Elf relations have been shaky at best throughout the last thousand years. If judging by my mother's expression alone has anything to say on the matter, it's there will be no peace between the two sects for another thousand years if Astrea directs one more out of pocket comment my direction.
I really hate to admit it, but Astrea has a point. The portal cannot truly be reforged until they have my blood. If I die and my body is burned, there will be no hope for the demon uprising. The mortals could track Bastian and his Soul Eaters down over time and then –
"You aren't considering this nonsense, are you?" Thrane's whisper in my ear catches me off guard and I nearly leap from my seat.
I frown up at him leaning toward me, his arms crossed over his chest, permitting the other leaders to hurl insults each other's way.
"She has a point," I admit in a hushed voice.
"A barbaric one."
"Thrane," I say lowly. "If I'm dead – "
